Carry You Home (Carry Your Heart #2)

by K. Ryan

  "I'm gonna marry you," Caleb hummed against my ear.

  "Uh huh," I sighed lazily. "You are."

  "When?"

  "Soon."

  "Tomorrow?" he asked hopefully and his tone suggested he wasn't being entirely facetious.

  Somehow, I still had the energy to laugh. "Not tomorrow. Soon though."

  "Fine," he huffed and tugged me against his chest as we settled back into the pillows. "I guess I can wait."

  "You're going to have to."

  "Well, it's a good thing you're worth the wait, Iz."

  This time, I totally had enough energy to smack him right in the chest.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Sit Down, Part Three

  Caleb

  There were a lot of things I'd rather be doing right now. Tuning up my bike, for instance. That seemed like time well-spent. Or maybe working out. Again, time well-spent. Painting my house. Mowing my lawn. Patching up that crack in our driveway. Eating Isabelle's cooking. Yeah, I'd rather be doing that too. Watching Project Runway. Yep, I said it. Pulling out my own teeth with a rusty pair of pliers. Oh yeah. Letting Chloe give me a hair-cut. That'd be okay too. Or, even better yet, I could finally join the 21st century and sign-up for Facebook. And Twitter while I'm at it because, why not?

  All of that was better than how I found myself spending this particular Saturday afternoon: sitting at my table with its mismatched chairs, directly across from Isabelle's dad. The business I had with him was something I could've easily done over the phone or hell, I could've just sent it to him in the mail. But that wasn't what Isabelle wanted and, to be fair, she had no idea that I planned on asserting my role in her life today. She probably wasn't going to be very happy with me—okay, she was going to be pissed as shit, but if I told her ahead of time, she'd argue and fight with me beforehand.

  Seeing as how she was just going to argue and fight afterward, I figured this way she only got upset once instead of twice.

  It wasn't until we went to the doctor earlier this week after the break-in that I realized just how much this new responsibility was going to cost me. Not gonna lie, I felt pretty goddamn stupid when I figured it out and I felt even stupider when I had to go to my mom for help with a solution. Needless to say, her solution probably wasn't going to make Isabelle very happy either, but until we finally got married, my hands were tied.

  Isabelle was just going to have to deal with it.

  So here I was, sitting across from Samuel Martin. Isabelle, in a futile attempt at keeping the peace, smiled nervously and her eyes kept darting from me to across the table almost as if she was readying herself for some sort of epic battle royale. I didn't necessarily want to get into a fist-fight with him. I just wanted him the hell out of my house.

  "Dad, um," Isabelle gestured to the glass in front of him. "Do you need some more water? We have soda, too, if—"

  Samuel just shook his head. "I'm fine."

  A long, awkward moment settled heavily in the air and I shifted uncomfortably in my chair. This whole thing was just getting worse with every second we sat here, all three of us staring at each other expectantly, but unable to get any words out.

  I heard Isabelle suck in a deep breath and let her take charge.

  "Thanks for coming, Dad," she started a little shakily. "I know we've been in the house for a couple weeks now, but I wanted to wait until everything got settled a little more before we invited you over."

  He just lifted a shoulder and even now, less than 10 minutes into this disaster in the making, I did not appreciate the calculating glint in his eyes, not to mention the way he stared at me like I was the one who'd done something wrong, like I was the one who had something to apologize for.

  "No, I understand," he told her and shifted his eyes back to me a second later. "I heard you had a break-in."

  My fists were already clenched into tight, white-knuckled balls underneath the table when Isabelle's hand rested on my thigh. She shot me a warning glance to tell me to back the hell off and I clamped down on my bottom lip to hide my reaction as much as possible.

  "Yes, we had a break-in," Isabelle tried again, her voice calm and level in a way I had to give her credit for. "That's been handled and," she waved a hand in the air for emphasis, "I guess you can see everything's back to normal now."

  It took the prospects almost a full week of work to get the house back in living order again, but it was done. We still didn't have any furniture in the living room you could really sit in anymore, but Isabelle, like everything else, had taken care of that and ordered new furniture the day after the break-in. In hindsight, I think she'd just needed something productive to do to keep her mind off everything the prospects had had to throw away—namely, all her paintings. Everything else, though, was pretty much as good as new or as good as it could be after a son of a bitch with a bullshit vendetta trashes your home.

  "Right," Samuel replied slowly. "Back to normal. Good to hear," then he leveled his gaze right on me. "What are your safety precautions now?"

  I cleared my throat of as much animosity as I could muster for Isabelle's sake. "I've got a prospect at the house whenever I'm not here, which isn't often. I've been taking her to and from campus and when I can't, someone else, whether it's a prospect or another club member, will do it for me."

  Isabelle absolutely despised not being able to drive herself, but it was a necessary evil. I wasn't taking any chances with Padilla. Even though he'd gone MIA since our little chat and even if I was about 99.9 percent certain he wouldn't be stupid enough to try anything again, that didn't mean I was willing to put Isabelle any more at risk than she already was.

  "I see," Samuel nodded carefully. "Is that it?"

  My eyes narrowed dangerously and just as I was about to pounce, Isabelle interceded.

  "Dad, there's not much else we can do. Caleb's doing everything he can to keep me safe and you know that. And look, Dad, the real reason I—we—wanted you to come by the house was because we have something we need to tell you."

  I swallowed tightly and shifted a hard glare at him, meeting his challenge head on. The sooner we got this shit over with, the better.

  Isabelle turned to me expectantly and I twisted my fingers around hers for moral support. With another quick inhale, she turned back to her dad and just let it fly.

  "Dad, I'm pregnant and we're getting married."

  Jesus, she probably didn't have to let it fly all at once like that, but now that it was out there, Samuel didn't really look all that surprised. In fact, he looked more pissed at me than anything with the way his eyes darkened into tiny slits, but I guess that made sense considering he just found out I'd knocked up his daughter.

  "Yes, I saw something about a prenatal screening and ultrasound on our insurance statement last month," he said evenly.

  I bristled at the mention of insurance, but it wasn't the right time to throw that into the mix yet.

  "You did?" Isabelle asked weakly and her shoulders drooped a little at the admission.

  Samuel pushed out a rough exhale. "I figured you would tell me when you were ready."

  Again, a long silence followed. I don't know what I was waiting for, but it wasn't this. His cheeks were turning red, most likely from anger directed toward me and frustration directed toward his daughter, but this quiet acceptance wasn't something I'd prepared myself for.

  Finally, Isabelle broke through the emptiness. "Is that all you have to say, Dad?"

  He just shrugged. "What else do you want me to say? That I'm happy for you? That I'm proud of you?"

  That got the fire started and I was leaning forward in my chair, despite Isabelle's hand shooting right to my shoulder to stop me. "I don't appreciate you coming into my house and speaking to her like that."

  "I can leave."

  "Maybe you should," I nodded tightly.

  "No, no, no," Isabelle shook her head and shot me another warning look. "Dad. Don't leave, okay? I didn't ask you to come over so we could fight. I thought you deserv
ed to know you're going to have a son-in-law soon and that you're going to be a grandpa and I thought you deserved to hear it from us. I'm sorry you had to figure it out the way you did."

  "Don't apologize to him, Iz," I told her through clenched teeth.

  "Stop it," she whispered loudly. "You're not helping."

  This time, it was my turn to shrug.

  Isabelle sighed and ran a hand through her hair, the agitation pouring off her in waves. The break-in and the panic attack hadn't caused any damage to the baby that we knew of, but our doctor told us stress needed to be avoided as much as possible, which really had me wondering why I'd agreed to meet with her dad in the first place.

  But because I loved her, because I wanted to see her happy and stress-free, I was going to have to play nice with her dad. I needed to get along with him like I needed a hole in the head, but there was just no way around it now.

  "Look," I couldn't believe I was about to say this. "I'm sorry I didn't sit down with you first and, you know, ask your permission, but I hope you can see why I didn't."

  The words stung a little more than they probably should have. Samuel Martin's permission was the last thing I needed to marry his daughter. If he was smart, he probably knew well enough that the only reason I'd said it was for Isabelle's sake.

  "Yes, I suppose I can understand why you wouldn't see the value in discussing this with me beforehand," he allowed and that was probably all I would get from him on that front.

  Which was fine.

  We didn't need to hash that out here and in front of Isabelle.

  "So," he held his hands out in front of him to gesture toward us. "When's the wedding then?"

  "We haven't set a date yet," Isabelle told him carefully, like she was gearing up for yet another battle. "I'll let you know when we do though."

  "And the baby? How far along are you if you don't mind me asking?"

  "About 10 weeks."

  He sighed and ran a hand over his face. "Well, I suppose there's nothing that can be done about it now."

  Playing nice be damned. He'd overstepped his boundaries in a big way.

  "What's that supposed to mean?" I bit out.

  Samuel shot me a wary glance and then turned his attention back to his daughter. "You remember what I told you?"

  I balked at those words and my eyes flew to Isabelle, who had gone still as a statue next to me.

  "What the hell, Iz?"

  She swallowed hard, her eyes flicking to me for just a second and then snapped back across from us. "Dad, that's a little uncalled for, don't you think?"

  "What are you talkin' about, Iz?"

  Isabelle just shook her head, her attention still fixed on her dad. "It doesn't matter, Caleb. Just forget it."

  I opened my mouth to tell her there was no way in hell I was going to just forget it when this was obviously something I needed to be brought up to speed on, but one glare from her was enough to shut me up.

  "Dad," she started again. This time, though, her voice shook with emotion. "I know you're disappointed and I understand, but you also need to understand that I'm happy. I have a good life with Caleb, whether you accept that or not, and it isn't going to change. We're getting married. We're having a baby. I'd like for you to be a part of that, but if you can't be civil and if you can't respect the father of my baby, then I don't know what else there is to say."

  Finally, something broke through that hard exterior, that cold, detached demeanor melted down a little to reveal something that actually looked human. Maybe Samuel Martin wasn't a robot after all. Go figure.

  His face drained of any color and it was clear he'd taken Isabelle's threat to essentially cut him out of her and his grandchild's life seriously. He sighed again and any resolve he might have had to object must have died in his throat. After all, he wasn't exactly the poster-boy for positive life choices.

  "I'm sorry," Samuel murmured and leaned an elbow against the table to support his head. "I really am. It shouldn't have come down to something like this...you feeling this way. Feeling like I can't be a part of your life. That's my fault, not yours."

  She nodded tightly. "Okay."

  "And while I can't lie to you and say I'm happy with what you've chosen, it's not my place to tell you any different. You're an adult. If this is what you choose, if this is what you want, I can't tell you I support it, but I want to be part of your life. I'd like to be part of my grandchild's life..."

  He trailed off and I just about fell out of my chair when I saw a little smile tugging across his normally hard face. This was weird. Really fucking weird. Should I feel grateful Isabelle's relationship with her dad was finally turning a corner or pissed as shit that I'd actually have to put up with being around him now?

  I didn't trust him with my kid anymore than I trusted him with my old lady, but judging by the smile already spreading across Isabelle's face, the answer was kinda in the question and the answer was that I was screwed.

  Now, my future father-in-law looked to me.

  "I know I probably don't need to say this anymore than I have much of a right to, but you'll keep them as safe as you can? I know it's not exactly a secret that I wish the Horsemen weren't in this town and let's face it, this break-in is just another example of what happens to people connected to your club. Whenever there's any trouble, it always seems like the women and children are the first and most vulnerable targets, aren't they?"

  I knew he was trying to make peace. I knew he was trying to find some sort of common ground, but the reality, the truth saturated in those words didn't sit well with me. In a roundabout, not-so-subtle way, he was basically telling me, to my face, that he didn't think I'd ever be able to completely protect Isabelle and our kid.

  "The only way anything would ever happen to them is if someone got through me first," I told him, forcing each syllable to drip with all the seriousness this conversation needed.

  He smiled sadly and nodded. "I figured you'd say something like that. At the end of the day, I just want to see Isabelle happy and safe. I think we can agree on at least that, can't we?"

  "Yeah, we can," and on that note, I dug into my pocket for the envelope I needed to give him and slid it across the table. "While we're on that topic, I need to give this to you."

  We both ignored Isabelle's confused expression and when Samuel got a good look at what was inside the envelope, his head shot back up to me.

  "I can't accept this."

  "Yes, you can," I told him tersely. "You shouldn't have to pay for Isabelle's doctor appointments. I think that should be more than enough to cover what your insurance has already paid for this last month or so."

  Samuel swallowed hard, both of us still ignoring the way Isabelle's jaw dropped to the kitchen floor, and slid the envelope back to me. "I don't need you to pay me back. I have no problem with Isabelle staying on my insurance as long as you need her to."

  At that, Isabelle sprung to life. "Wait a minute. Caleb, I don't understand what's happening here."

  "We'll talk about it later," I told her. "But I don't want you on your dad's insurance anymore. I can pay for it. I should be paying for it."

  Her eyes widened and then they flashed with that fire I knew a little too well. "Excuse me, but I don't think this is the kind of decision you should be making without talking to me first."

  "Like I said, Iz, we'll talk about this later. Right now, Mr. Martin," I gestured towards the envelope still on the table. "I would really appreciate it if you took the money. Isabelle and the baby are my responsibility and any doctor bills she has should be paid by me, not you."

  Samuel eyed me warily and squinted at me a little like he was trying to figure me out. His gaze shifted to the envelope again and then he tapped it with his fingers.

  "So how will you be paying her doctor bills then?"

  I cleared my throat, having mentally prepared myself for this question already. "Isabelle can get insurance through the shop. It's not great 'cuz she's just part-time, but it's something
until we get married and until she can get on my insurance after we get married."

  "Your insurance through the club, you mean?" he cocked an eyebrow at me.

  "The shop," I clarified tightly.

  I was technically full-time at the shop and so, just by default, my insurance was better than Isabelle's would be anyway. At least that was the way my mom explained it. As shameful as it was, I hadn't really paid much attention to things like health insurance and Medicaid and monthly payments before. My mom just always handled everything for me. The bills were always paid and that was pretty much because she'd set it up so it came out of my bank account without me having to do anything.

  Now it was time for me to start footing the work and the accountability and all that shit. Be a family man and everything that went along with it. I was burning through my money too fast, but what else was I supposed to do? Let someone else take care of my family?

  "And you'll be paying her monthly payments and everything?" Samuel asked and the question seemed like it was more of a formality now than anything.

  "Yeah," I nodded. "And anything else she needs. Anything she wants. Like I said, she's my responsibility."

  I could feel the steam practically pouring out of Isabelle's ears, but whatever. I'd expected that and then some.

  "And you can afford to do that?"

  I huffed out a laugh. I hoped he didn't know how right his assumptions about my bank account probably were at this point. "Well, I could afford this house, couldn't I? I'll worry about that. So, will you just take the money and we can call it even?"

  Now, Samuel was looking to Isabelle, whose jaw was clenched so tightly I was a little worried it might break right off.

  "And given the way he makes his money," he told her. "You're okay with him paying for your insurance, your house, your tuition, anything else with that money?"

  Even though she was red all the way to the top of her ears, to her credit, Isabelle nodded as calmly as she could probably manage. That seemed to be all her dad needed to see and then with one last heavy sigh, he tugged the envelope toward him again so he could slip it into his pocket.